Innocent Intent
by Iji
Summary: InuYasha returns from work one afternoon to find his wife murdered after what appears to be a struggle. Now he must figure out just who would murder her, why and how best to seek out revenge for her untimely passing. (Inuyasha AU, Some graphic content)


There was always a delay at the red light on the corner, and despite his best efforts, he always found himself trapped on the wrong side of it. He'd complained multiple times to the county about just how long it held going each direction and still there was nothing to be done. His wife assured him that it would make no difference, but the melting rocky road in one of the paper bags in his trunk begged to differ.

The hanyou rotated his wrist to look to the face of the watch, pursing his lips before golden eyes flickered back up to the red light in front of him. Claws tapped against the leather bound wheel. Ears rotated and flicked from side to side irritably. It didn't take long for his shoulders to lean forward and his head to tilt to peer up at the lights facing his right to see if they had even swapped to yellow just yet. Yet again, he turned his wrist to check his watch.

"Not going to be a surprise if I get home late anyway," he grumbled, flicking his tongue against his teeth as he reached his hand into his passenger seat to adjust the modest bouquet of artificially colored flowers from leaning so much into the door. The action was cut short as the damnable light finally changed.

Fortunately, the house wasn't far from the intersection, and before he knew it, he was pulling into their short driveway. Tugging at his rearview mirror, he leaned into his reflection to sort out the long bangs and sidelocks that framed his face. A quick lick to his thumb and he smoothed down the ruffled black brows before tugging the short, fluffy ponytail out of its band only to sweep his hair back again to tie it more securely at the base of his head. She wouldn't be expecting him for another hour or so, at least he had some time to make himself a little presentable. Not that he minded that she'd do it for him out of habit if he didn't handle it now. Not at all. Nope.

Once he was finished inspecting himself, he took up the flowers and bottle of water he had been nursing since he left the construction sight. Stepping out of the car, he gave a short pause halfway toward the the trunk, furrowing his brows and looking around. His nose gave a quick twitch while nostrils flared and he inhaled the scents floating about in the air. Something was off, bitter and metallic in the usual way that would unsettle him, but it didn't take long to find the source. He noticed, upon looking over the roof of his car, that there was an object in the road further down the street. Tan, by the looks of it, and woefully flat.

"Told them to keep their dog in the yard," he grunted as he went around to the trunk and inserted the key into the lock, popping it open and fetching out the two paper bags he'd tucked away inside. Immediately, his sensitive nose was flooded with the scent of fresh oranges, the hint of the fish he'd picked up for their dinner along with the herbs and fixings to accompany and, of course, the sweet and sticky fragrance of melting chocolate, marshmallow and almonds.

She was always a sucker for the dessert. She'd likely have one of those plastic pudding bowls right beside her plate of fish. That was his Kagome.

Closing the trunk with his elbow, lifting onto the balls of his feet to sit on it to get the stubborn latch to finally catch, he tugged the keys out of the key hole. His pace was brisk as he strode up to the walkway leading from the driveway to the house, heavy work boots thudding against the concrete while the keys jingled between his fingers as he felt along each one looking for his house key. The effort was halted when he felt the thick weight of a rather plump cat go darting out from between his ankles once the screen door had been opened.

"Damnit, Buyo!" the man cursed, bracing the frame of the screen door on his back as he turned to give chase before thinking better of it. "Kagome, I told you!" he then began to complain, tone agitated from months of repetition now that the spring to summer season had hit and the weather had grown warm. "You can't just leave the door open, at least without locking the scr-"

Crack.

The man froze, half turned through the doorway when he felt the crunch beneath his left foot. Golden eyes dropped down to the toe of his boot, lifting it and moving it to the left to find the shattered photo of the two of them sitting on their front porch arm in arm. Happy smiles were torn to bits with the jagged dark lines of broken glass that spread like spiders webs over their faces.

His brows lowered as eyes traveled along the ground to find another photo a foot away, the back of the frame facing the ceiling with bits of plaster still strewn across the backing and glass sparkling in a trail of portrait gore across the carpet. The hallway was a mess. The coat rack was tossed aside, shoes trailing in disorganized piles leading to the living room . The wall was bare of a number of the photos they had hung, now strewn in his path. A soft song played from the living room, interrupted by some sort of web ad that pierced the sudden palpable silence of his home.

"Kagome?" he inquired nervously.

Ears pinned back, then forward when there was no immediate answer. The groceries were abandoned in the doorway as he braced his weight on the walls with his palms and leapt over the glassy hallway, turning quickly into the living room. It looked relatively untouched, a towel draped over the back of her computer chair and a mug of tea sitting abandoned with the teabag still stooping in the now nearly coffee colored liquid.

"Kagome!" he bellowed, turning from the room to move across the hall and into the kitchen to find it empty as well, the only oddity being that the microwave door was ajar showing a small pot pie sitting on the rotating tray. He was frantic now, throwing open the bedroom door, the closet door. Her name rocked the walls with each demanding howl.

Where was she? What happened? The house looked as if it had been abandoned - some walls were beaten, some were bare. Pillows were in disarray and there was evidence of something having happened but his wife was gone.

"This isn't fucking funny!" he snarled, nearly ripping the guest bedroom door open to find nothing at all inside, the room as dark as ever. He heaved a heavy breath, eyes wide and heart pounding. A hand lifted to draw into the thick silver bangs over his brow, ears pinning back against the thundering sound of his own heartbeat. Stumbling back a few steps, he felt his back collide with the wall as he tried to gather his senses enough to focus on a plan of action. The house wasn't that large. It was a little affair. There was no place for her or anyone to hide, none that he wouldn't be able to smell.

Nostrils flared and he froze. Even his heaving chest had gone still. The dry scent of the dog outside had grown stronger. That metallic, sticky, sickly scent.

His head slowly turned toward the dim doorway to the bedroom down the hall from him now. The master suite still only slightly ajar from his hasty abandonment in his eager search.

It had grown stronger.

Scrambling he pushed himself off of the wall and charged down the hallway again. The door slammed into the wall so violently the doorknob wedged itself into the plaster. The bed was in place but the bedding looked disturbed, something he hadn't noticed in his earlier haste. A pillow rested on the wall opposite of him in front of the bathroom door which he had assumed to be open judging by the soft light filtering in from the window within.

The stench of blood was even thicker here, but he couldn't see any. He pressed further, though this time he couldn't will his legs to be as swift as they had been in the past. Each step was careful as his mind raced, preparing himself for the potential of the worst possible scenario. The doorway of the bathroom began to feel like the gates to hell, drawing him, dragging him closer. As he rounded the bed the perspective of the room changed and he saw a hint of movement. It was all that he needed to lurch forward and stumble hand over foot through, reaching out for the movement, that ray of hope.

"Kago-!" he had called, relief that had once numbed his dread replaced with the sharp and vicious raking talons of terror.

The shower curtain eased back and forth in the gentle breeze that passed through the opened window set above the tiled wall of the tub directly in front of him. Just beneath the open window was a painting of smeared crimson. Three loud splashes coating shattered tiles and drawing in dramatic streaks south to the tub below.

Her body was un-natural. It was fake. It was something foreign in the way her torso crumbled to fit into the steep basin of the bathtub. The way her hair matted, sticky, to her back where the light material of her pink tank top was hanging loosely over her shoulders, now glued to her skin with blood. Her bare foot hung suspended in the air, forced up as her knees were evicted from the tiny space, mirroring the limp and pale hand still propped against the tiles and reaching for freedom unrealized.

He gasped, fingers twitching limply at his sides as his lungs took over for a brain that refused to give him the opportunity to breathe in this moment. His body was angry, refusing to heed his desire to escape this hellish reality; there was no place to go. Nowhere that was worth running to - this was his home.

Slowly, he stepped forward, hands lifting and extending outward toward the tub in question. He could hear the numbed and muted sound of her name on his lips, repeated. Over and over, pleading to no avail. She wasn't moving. He could already tell she wasn't warm. He could feel the frigid chill by way of the evaporation of her natural scent. Something putrid in its wake remained. Something stale.

To his knees he crumbled at the side of the bathtub - shaking hands reaching out to begin peeling his wife from the wall only to be returned with resistance. Jaw set he persisted,proceeding to lift her from her contorted position and turn her about as carefully as he could despite the twisting in his stomach. Her figure wasn't as limp as he had expected. It was slow to shift, tight and constricted. Her new state was driving her stiff and he was left wondering just how long ago it was that she had been alone in this room. That she was fighting for her life and he was not here to protect her. Just how long ago her screams for help had been so abruptly silenced.

Her eyes peered up at him as he held her, her head rested against his shoulder as he gripped her extended hand, urging her chilled fingers to curl about his own. They no longer sparkled with life, illuminated by grand ideas and a lust for adventure, instead they were made dull by open air. Her pupils were large and oddly shaped - she stared up at him with that surprised part of her lips, a stressed pressure to her brows. There wasn't even the saving grace of her expression showing some semblance of peace. A reminder of just how traumatic and desperate she had been.

"Kagome.." he croaked when his voice finally found his throat, dry and unforgiving. Thick claws drew with a feather light touch back and forth over her cheek. Fingertips that once were intoxicated with the warmth of her skin now feeling as if his skin was going to crawl right form them. "Kagome, no." He shuffled closer to the side of the tub, setting her hand down and hooking an arm under her knees to adjust her that her sky blue painted toes tucked neatly under the faucet. He couldn't even bring the strength to his arms to lift her. Everything was like air but heavy as stone.

Lowering his head he lifted hers to rest her brow against his own, ears pinned back against the long silver hair that draped over his shoulders. His teeth grit, lower lip now leaking blood as fangs bore into flesh in an attempt to stop the searing tears that were freely falling from his eyes, traveling along the ridge of his nose and dripping over her cheeks and collar bone. "No, no, no.."

There was nothing. Though his heart told him to try to bring her back, to call for help, his mind knew otherwise. Each stroke of her hair, each kiss to her chilled cheeks and the silence of her body left him unable to move from her side.

He rocked because she couldn't and he shook because her time was gone. His chest burned angrily and erupted in a grief stricken, passionate roar of pain when he buried his face into her shoulder, crushing her against him and finally giving in to his heart's heavy burden. The silent house was filled with his pain as it had once burst at the seams with their laughter, their lives, and her screams.

The sound soaked into the thick paint that marred the small room's walls. Angry, hateful words corrupted their home; hanyou slurs, vicious words portraying the motive of the crime as clear as the blood dried on the tiles.


End file.
